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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383460">Witcher's Favorite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyla_Wren/pseuds/Kyla_Wren'>Kyla_Wren</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Immortal Bard [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Geralt making heart eyes at Jaskier, M/M, just some fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:47:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyla_Wren/pseuds/Kyla_Wren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt loves watching Jaskier sing. </p>
<p>The bard can tell by the way he sits in the corner and broods.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Immortal Bard [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>460</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Witcher's Favorite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier took a look around the room, his blue eyes drinking in the candlelight and reflecting it back like two bright stars. The ceiling was low in this tavern. Geralt had been forced to duck under the rafters when they’d entered before dinner. The whole establishment was about as spacious and well-appointed as a woodshed. It smelt of wet packed earth and the turnips cooking in the kitchen, as well as cheap ale and the three dozen laborers who sat stone-faced and turned in his direction.</p>
<p>The bard gave them all a smile. A genuine one, surprising as that would be to the people who knew him before all these adventurers started. He could see the flicker of Geralt’s silver hair and golden eyes all the way in the back corner, sipping a pint and radiating menace. The Witcher would drink down in the root cellar if he’d been allowed.</p>
<p><em> Except, he wouldn’t</em>. At every inn and bar they stopped at during their months on the road, Geralt found a seat in the shadows to watch Jaskier sing. The bard knew it was to keep him out of trouble. He couldn’t argue against the idea that he needed some measure of protection from himself. His brooding companion could hardly be doing it for the songs. Geralt heard them all the time on the road, and more often than not was telling Jaskier to be silent under threat of lute-murder.</p>
<p>No matter the reason, it made Jaskier’s heart swell to see him in the crowd. Even if he was doomed to end this night showered with rotten vegetables, his Witcher would be there to join him afterwards.</p>
<p>He decided to play Geralt’s favorite song. <em> Well, favorite might be a stretch. </em> The bard’s companion had never outright complimented any of his compositions. This one, though… Jaskier had come across an old tune from the mountains where Kaer Morhen stood. Simple enough to learn and improve upon, while still keeping the recognizable thread of the song. He’d written new lyrics about snowfall and a bright dawn and hawks wheeling overhead, just ordinary sights from a mountain, made pretty by Jaskier’s voice and poetic phrasing. The first time he’d played it at their campfire, Geralt had closed his eyes. The bard assumed he’d put the Witcher to sleep - until he saw the rhythmic movement of Geralt’s head as he nodded along.</p>
<p>“Where’d you learn that one?” he’d asked Jaskier, when the last note died away. The bard had preened and prattled for so long afterwards that the Witcher claimed to regret the question.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s hand ran along the polished wood of his elven lute, warmed by the hearth. He’d never had to replace a single string since Filavandrel had bequeathed him the instrument. It made a sharp contrast to their surroundings, its neck resting against Jaskier’s expensive sleeve. Rich suede of the darkest midnight blue. The slashes in his doublet were cut into elongated stars, revealing silver velvet below. The bard had a bad habit of spending all of his coin at the tailor’s shop. It always felt worth it, even when the perilous business of Witching (or Witcher-assisting) left most of his wardrobe in blood-stained tatters.</p>
<p>Rain was pelting down outside, making a drumbeat on the tavern’s leaky roof. Jaskier tapped the face of his lute in time to the water and wind, feeling inspiration seeping into his blood. He began the mountain song, slow and droning at first, building like thunder. As his voice raised, clear and strong, and his fingers began to fly, the villagers stopped their muttered conversations. They started to tap their feet, then stomp along in time, their heavy boots hitting the floorboards. Jaskier walked among them, feeling like a general whipping up his troops for battle. This was going far better than he had hoped. He chanced a glance at his Witcher.</p>
<p>Geralt’s eyes were not closed. He was staring fixedly at Jaskier. This was nothing new, although typically his expression would be stormy and irritated. He looked… dazed. Like he’d been hit in the face with something soft.</p>
<p>Even mild concern for Geralt’s health could not derail Jaskier’s song. He was a consummate professional, after all, and in rare form. The song ended with a flourish, and the tavern’s rough patrons drummed the tables with their spoons and dug in their pockets for coin. A perfect segue into Jaskier’s most popular tune.</p>
<p>The subject of that particular song blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it, and drained his cup. For a moment worry twisted in Jaskier’s stomach, wondering if the Witcher was about to leave. Instead he leaned back against the waddle and daub wall, crossing his arms across his broad chest, and settled in to watch the rest of the performance through half-lidded eyes.</p>
<p>It was a great one. This little village without even a proper name was getting the show of a lifetime, one people would pay sky-high for in any civilized capital. These thoughts warmed Jaskier’s heart as he belted out his best compositions. It didn’t matter.</p>
<p>He was only singing for one person, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i>That person’s golden eyes watched him with undeniable fondness.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I just love them :)</p>
<p>Leave a comment if you enjoyed it, I loveee talking about these two.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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